The King

by J. R. Ward

  "Take my vein," Wrath said roughly. "Take it..."

  She didn't even know whether she was on her back or her belly, what room she was in, what time it was. But the instant his throat came up to her mouth, she was crystal clear on the bite: Her fangs punched out and she used them hard, cranking down on Wrath's flesh, breaking the surface and going deep, freeing up the other thing she needed from him.

  Oh, the power of him. As her mouth was filled, she was struck once again by the incredible impact his blood had on her. With her strength flagging even as the needing raged on, and her body aching everywhere as if she'd been through a baler, she was nonetheless fortified from the very first draw, better able to continue--even though it wasn't like she had a choice.

  As she had to release his vein to suck some air in, she couldn't believe she had volunteered for this. She must have been crazy, some stupid-ass romantic vision of having a baaaaaaaaby getting in the way of twelve kinds of reality.

  Relocking on Wrath's throat, he somehow managed to keep pumping even as she stayed on his vein, his erection going in and out, the deep digs and sharp removals resonating throughout her torso, her head rocking up and down, her hips absorbing his weight. Slick with sweat, their bodies moved together with such seamless communion, she didn't know where hers left off and his began.

  A sudden change in tempo told her he was gearing up for another orgasm, and she needed it from--

  Wrath reared his head back, and her fangs ripped his neck, but he didn't seem to care.

  Didn't seem to even notice.

  Jesus, he was magnificent: Through the haze of the sex, she watched him strain, his lips curling back, his own fangs getting exposed, his hair flowing away from its widow's peak as his sightless, pale green eyes flared wide and then squeezed shut.

  And then it was her turn, her core grabbing at his arousal, greedy for what he ejaculated into her, the pleasure so acute that it was a kind of agony.

  Just as the contractions were beginning to slow, she braced herself for the next wave, preparing for yet another next round of the bone-crushing urge to take over ...

  When it didn't immediately come, she looked around, as if the needing were a third party that just might have left the--

  Oh, wow. They were still in the bathroom. On the floor.

  Wrath collapsed against her, his head falling so far, so hard that she heard his forehead knock against the marble.

  As the respite grew longer, she probably should have started to go cold, but the inferno in her body kept both of them plenty warm--

  A whirring sound from over the tub brought her head around. The shutters were going down for the day, the panels locking into place at the sills.

  So this had been going on for ... eight hours? Nine?

  There were no sounds from downstairs, but then the Brothers had probably all been affected by her hormones. The females as well.

  Wrath lifted himself up, his muscles straining, his arms trembling. "How are you?"

  Beth opened her mouth to answer, but only a croak came out.

  "You're going to want my vein still," he said, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. "You need it."

  "What about--" As her voice cracked, she cleared her throat. "What about you?"

  He looked gaunt, his cheeks hollowed out as if he'd lost twenty-five pounds--but he shook his head. "My only concern is you."

  The image of him grew wavy as tears speared.

  "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "Oh, God ... I'm so sorry."

  "About what?"

  "This ... whole thing."

  He shook his head. "This would have happened sooner or later."

  "But I--"

  Wrath dropped his mouth to hers and kissed her softly. "No more of that. We go forward from tonight. Whatever happens ... we fucking deal, okay?"

  There was no time for her to reply. Abruptly, the needing geared up once again, that tide rising, the heat uncoiling in her sex and driving right into her heart.

  "Oh, God," she moaned, "I thought it was over."

  "Not yet." He didn't seem surprised at all. "We're not finished..."

  iAm was standing over the stove down in the kitchen when he sensed his brother's appearance. He didn't even need to turn around from the pot of stew he'd thrown together: the air in the room changed--and not in a good way.

  Trez was also not alone. And he knew that not because he caught Selena's scent ... but because he caught his brother's.

  iAm cursed under his breath as he stirred. The motherfucker had bonded.

  Fantastic.

  Hell, iAm had had some hope that, with all the hormones flooding the household, whatever sex those two had gotten down with had been the result of someone else's needing.

  Great theory. Except Shadows were immune to that kind of shit.

  "You weren't supposed to be the one who serviced him," iAm muttered as he put more sea salt into the mix.

  "Watch your tone."

  iAm pivoted around and glared at the dumb-ass. "I have an idea. How about you--for once--make a good decision about a female. Then I won't have to get pissy."

  The Chosen standing beside Trez kicked her chin up. "If you want to blame someone, do not address him. I chose to go unto him even though you asked for another."

  iAm turned back to his pot. "Great. Congratulations and welcome to the family."

  His brother materialized over to him, spun him around and grabbed him by the throat. "Apologize to her--"

  iAm leaned into the iron grip, baring his fangs. "Fuck you, Trez."

  "You want a piece?" his brother growled. "You want a fucking--"

  "Do it. I fucking dare you--"

  "Don't push me--"

  "I'm trying to save your ass! You fucking--"

  As the pair of them escalated toward an implosion to rival Wrath's from the night before, the Chosen walked over and spoke evenly.

  "He told me," she cut in. "Everything. And it strikes me that the two of you are alone in this situation. So mayhap Last Meal instead of fisticuffs, shall we."

  iAm turned his head at the same time Trez did.

  As the pair of them faced off at the totally calm and controlled Chosen, Trez did the unheard-of--and dropped his hand. Stepped off. Crossed his arms over his chest.

  He was still furious to the core, but the call to heel was obeyed with such ease, you had to wonder if maybe the bonding bullshit might not be useful--to a point.

  iAm glared at his brother. "I don't know what to say to you."

  "Selena, will you give us a sec?"

  The Chosen nodded. "Mayhap I'll just return up north. And give you two plenty of space."

  Trez frowned. "You don't have to go."

  Selena's eyes went back and forth. "Actually, I think I do. You know where I'll be--and please. Do not tear each other asunder. It will only make all of this worse."

  iAm braced himself for a gag-worthy display of good-byeing, but the female further impressed him by bowing slightly and taking off. No muss, no fuss.

  Shit, he could almost like her. If he weren't so angry at his idiot brother--

  "I want to meet with s'Ex. Today."

  iAm crossed his own arms and leaned back against the stove. "Because you think you're going to talk sense into him? I already got real with the bastard--and he's more than ready to do his job."

  "Can you reach him?"

  "Yeah."

  "Tell him to meet me at noon at our apartment."

  "That's the deadline for you to show at the s'Hisbe." When his brother didn't reply, iAm lifted his brows. "You aren't turning yourself in, are you?"

  "Set up the meeting."

  iAm cursed long and low. Yeah, he wanted to kick his brother's ass--but absolutely, positively didn't want anyone else to. "Trez."

  "Do it."

  "Not unless you tell me where you're at."

  "I thought you wanted me to go back."

  "So that's what you're doing? Tell me something, you planning on bringing your Chosen with yo
u--make a happy little family or some shit?"

  "She's not mine."

  "Have you told your hormones that?"

  Trez slashed his hand through the air. "I don't know what you're talking about--"

  "And that's your fucking problem."

  "Just call the executioner. That's all I've got to say."

  As Trez turned on his heel, iAm spoke sharply. "I can't let you go back there."

  Trez stopped. Looked over his shoulder.

  "What," iAm groused.

  "I just ... I don't know. I guess I didn't expect that."

  Time to go back to the sauce. Stew. What the fuck was he making again?

  Popping the lid off, he remanned his spoon and stirred slowly. He'd handmade everything from the chicken stock to the spice satchels that were floating on the surface of the fragrant melange.

  "iAm?"

  "I don't care if they die." He watched slices of carrots and squares of onions surface in the thick base. "I know I'm supposed to, because they're my parents, but I've thought about it and I'm sorry--if they can be selfish, so can I. My family is you and me, and I will choose us over anyone."

  "God ... I think I needed you to say that."

  He shot another glare over. "You doubted it? Like, ever?"

  Trez went across and parked it on one of the stools at the counter. "There are limits."

  iAm had to laugh. "You don't say."

  Going to the cabinets on the left, he took out two deep-bellied bowls, then sprang one of the drawers and got some soup spoons. Ladling the stew in, he served his brother first.

  Trez tried some and moaned. "This is amazing."

  When iAm gave the shit a taste, he had to agree, but he kept that to himself. Pride was an unattractive trait, even if it was well-placed.

  "What are you going to do about the Chosen?" iAm asked.

  Trez's shrug was just a liiiiiittle too nonchalant. "Nothing."

  "Not sure it's going to work out like that for you."

  Trez stared into the stew. "She's just one more reason to stay on the outside. Not that I needed it."

  "She says you told her everything. That right?"

  It was a long while before Trez nodded slowly. "Yeah. Pretty much."

  "What exactly did you keep to yourself."

  Those black eyes lifted after a while. "Seconds?"

  iAm snagged the now-empty bowl and brought it over for a redo.

  "I didn't tell her how bad it's going to get," Trez said softly as more stew was delivered.

  "So you lied."

  There was another long silence. "Yeah. I did."

  Because after the queen was done eliminating their parents? The tribe was going to come after iAm. He was the next rung on the ladder of coercion because they couldn't touch Trez, after all. He had to be in one piece.

  iAm found himself nodding. "Probably a good move."

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  It was easy to think of God while watching the sun rise over the Hudson River.

  As Sola sat on the empty terrace of Assail's glass house, she stared across the cold, sluggish water. Little flashes of peach and yellow skimmed over the icy expanse as, across the way, that great orange orb crested over the skyscrapers of downtown.

  She had made it out of that prison, she thought for the hundredth time. And whatever scars might have formed on the inside of her, her body was intact, her mind functional, and her safety, at least in the short term, assured.

  Thinking back to all those prayers, she couldn't believe they'd been granted. Desperation had made her utter the words, but she hadn't really expected anyone to be listening.

  The question now was ... did she keep her side of the bargain?

  Man, it would have been so much easier if an angel with wings had come down and freed her, magically depositing her here. Instead, she'd done the dirty work herself, Assail had been on cleanup, and one of those fierce cousins of his had been a chauffeur for the five-hour trip back to sanity. Oh, and then there had been all those people in that facility.

  Mere mortals touched by the hand of God? Or a series of random events that just happened to roll out as they did? Was the fact that her life had been saved a case of divine intervention ... or of no more significance than one bingo ball getting picked over another?

  A shallow fishing boat puttered into view, its sole passenger steering the outboard motor from the back, controlling speed and direction.

  Pulling the heavy duvet even closer around her body, she thought about all the things she'd done, starting when she was just nine or ten. She'd begun picking pockets, trained by her father, and moved up to more complex theft with his help. Then, after he'd gone to prison and she and her grandmother had moved here to the States, she'd gotten a cashier's job at a restaurant and tried to support them both. When that had proved too difficult, she'd put her experience to good use and survived.

  Her grandmother had never asked any questions, but that had always been the way--her mother had been the same, except when it came to Sola's involvement in the life. Unfortunately, the woman hadn't lived long enough to make much of an impact, and after she was gone, the husband and daughter she had left behind had become thick as thieves.

  Natch.

  Sooner or later, she'd been bound to get caught. Hell, her father had been even better at it than she was, and he'd died in prison.

  Picturing him the last time she'd seen him, she remembered him at his trial, dressed in prison garb, handcuffed. He had barely looked at her, and not because he was ashamed or worried about getting emotional.

  She'd been no longer useful to him at that point.

  Rubbing her eyes, she thought it was asinine to still be hurt by that. But after spending all her time trying to make him proud, get some approval, find any kind of connection, she had realized that to him, she was just another tool in his black-market workplace.

  She had left the courtroom before knowing whether he was found guilty or not--and she had gone directly to his apartment. Breaking in, she'd found the stash of cash he kept in a crawl space cut into the wall behind the shower in the bathroom--and used that shit to get her and her grandmother free of his legacy.

  The papers to enter into the U.S. had been falsified. The news they'd received about three weeks later from relations had been real: Her father had gotten life.

  And then he'd been murdered behind bars.

  With her grandmother not just a widower, but childless, Sola had stepped into the role of provider the only way she knew how, the only way that worked.

  And now she was here, sitting on the deck of a drug lord's house, faced with the kind of moral dilemma she had never expected to come up against ...

  Watching some random fisherman cut his engine and throw a line in.

  Even though the guy had turned off the motor, he wasn't still. The river's current carried him along, his boat drifting across the view, a humble craft dwarfed by the distant buildings.

  "You want the breakfast?"

  Sola twisted around. "Good morning."

  Her grandmother had her hair done in tight curls around her face, her apron tied on her waist, and a flash of lipstick on her mouth. Her simple cotton dress had been handmade--by her, of course--and her sturdy brown shoes were somehow fitting.

  "Yes, please."

  When she went to get up, her grandmother motioned downward with both gnarled hands. "Sit in the sun. You need the sun, too pale you are. You living like a vampire."

  Ordinarily, she would have pushed back a little, but not this morning. She was too grateful to be alive to do anything other than comply.

  Returning to the view, she found that the fisherman was disappearing on the right, going out of sight.

  If she hadn't prayed, she would have gotten out of that place anyway. She was a survivor, always had been--and she had done what she had on a strange kind of autopilot, sucking in her emotions and physical sensations and doing what was necessary.

  So if she looked at her future, at the currents
in her life that were going to carry her out of view, so to speak ... going legit was the smartest thing to do.

  Regardless of any "agreement" she'd had with God.

  She was going to end up in jail or dead--and she'd just dipped her foot in the icy cold of the dead scenario. Not where she wanted to end up.

  Blinking in the gathering light, she gave up on the vision thing and closed her eyes, letting her head fall back. The warmth on her face made her think of Assail.

  Being with him had been like touching the sun and not getting incinerated. And her body wanted more--hell, just the passing thought of him was enough to take her back to those moments in that bed, the night so quiet, the gasps so loud.

  As her breasts tightened, she felt a welling between her thighs--

  "Sola, you are ready," her grandmother said from behind her.

  Getting to her feet, she leaned out over the glass balcony, trying to find her fisherman. She couldn't. He was gone.

  Brr, it was cold out here--

  "Sola?" came a gentle prodding.

  Strange. Ordinarily, her grandmother's voice was like the woman's hands--never soft. In fact, she spoke like she cooked: out front, forthright, no holds barred.

  But now the tone was as close to gentle as Sola had ever heard it.

  "Sola, you come eat now."

  Sola took one last stab at seeing her fisherman. Then she turned around and faced her grandmother.

  "I love you, vovo."

  Her grandmother could only nod as those ancient eyes of hers steamed up. "Come, you'll catch the dead of a cold."

  "The sun is warm."

  "Not warm enough." Her grandmother stepped back and motioned. "You must eat."

  As Sola entered the house, she froze.

  Without looking, she knew that Assail had come down the stairs and was staring at her.

  Shit, she wasn't sure she could leave him behind.

  After having been sequestered in his room for the last couple days, Trez found the world to be a stretch for the senses, like having a strobe light in his face and a pair of speakers up to each ear: Getting onto the Northway to head into downtown Caldwell, he found himself putting his sunglasses on and turning off the radio--

  From out of nowhere, some dumb shit did a two-lane sweep and cut him the hell off.

  "Watch where you're going!" he shouted into the windshield, pounding on his horn.

  For a split second, he hoped the guy behind the wheel of the Dodge Charger decided to go road rage back at him. He wanted to hit something. Shit, it would probably be good practice for his meeting with s'Ex. Mr. Charger, however, just took his overload of testosterone and his pencil-size dick off at the next exit, jogging in front of a minivan and a pickup truck in the process.